


Rags

by Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind - Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Incomplete conspiracy theory tm, Plz DONT READ, and I was wondering about basts blanket, i really just want my boys to be happy, spoliers for WMF I guess?, this is so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 04:09:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound/pseuds/Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound
Summary: Kvothe is curious about Bast's blanket





	Rags

“What’s this?”   
Bast spun around, book in his hand falling to the floor as his chair teetered. He was greeted by the sight of his teacher, messy hearthfire locks tied back in a sloppy bun, green eyes bright with peaked curiosity and amusement as he held up Bast’s worn patchwork blanket between his fingers.   
Bast felt his cheeks prickle with heat, running a belated hand through his dark hair. By the moon, he hated when he blushed. It made his skin look splotchy.   
“S’ Nothing, Reshi,” he mumbled, picking up the fallen book from the floor and sinking back into the righted chair. It had been awhile since Kote has stooped to visit Bast’s room, and he had fallen into carelessness. He hadn't bothered to throw out the dried holly or close the curtains, let alone pack up the brightly colored quilt. Kote raised a single eyebrow, free hand coming to rest on his hip.   
“Nothing?”  
“It's a personal belonging,” Bast grumbled, standing up. He had gotten half dressed in the morning before getting distracted, and so wore only one stocking. Kote’s other eyebrow rose as he noted it.   
“A personal belonging I have never seen before.”   
“Exactly.”   
His teacher rolled his eyes as Bast lurched forward and snatched the blanket out of his hands.   
“Did your mother make it?” Kote asked. There was something different about his voice, more open. It was edged in cautious softness, as it always was talking about the past.   
Bast froze, hands clenched in the worn fabric.   
“No,” he finally answered, turning away. The fabric seemed to scold him quietly, urging him to tell its story. It was a story to be told, yes, but not to Kote and not today. Kote — even Bast referred to him as this now, because Kvothe would never be so worn, so weary — wouldn't understand. Or maybe he would. That might be even worse, that his Reshi would be so broken as to understand.   
In a sudden flurry of movement, he folded it neatly, and slid it under his four poster bed.   
“Nothing to worry about,” he said with a reassuring grin. He pulled on another sock, bracing himself against the corner of his bed, then tugged on his boots.   
“Alright Reshi, where to first?”

**Author's Note:**

> this is so Ewww and short and ugh why am i even posting this but   
> Here y'all go? 
> 
> comments and kudos if you liked it I guess


End file.
